Forgiveness in the Oil House
by Prime627
Summary: Maccadam has run his Old Oil House for years, and he's not about to stop just because of the war, so he gets some strange customers, and none are going to be stranger than the ones that visit him next.


Nowhere does it say Maccadam lacks a sense of humor. The old mech ran his Old Oil House without letting anyone know _he_ owned it. No one quite knew who Maccadam was. Was he the bartender? The waiter? Was he even a mech? No, no, and he was, in fact, not the femme that danced on stage for the drunk mechs. He would listen to his customers argue and speculate while he played the piano before their optics, grinning at the pearly keys. But he doesn't play anymore.

After the war started, he found he had no use for the cheery music he knew. So the piano was covered up, and _Maccadam's Old Oil House_ fell into near-ruin. It appeared to be boarded up, but if you were not a frequent visitor, the sign in the window saying _all lOners sPin to thE sileNce_ would mean nothing, and you would shrug it off as a crackpot mech without a sense of sentence structure when, clearly, the sign declared the oil house was open.

Galvatron padded in wearily, glancing back to make sure he wasn't followed by any unwanted visitors. Then he closed the door and sighed at Maccadam, who had already set the mug of High Grade down for the warlord. "You know me too well," he breathed.

Maccadam said very little to the warlord, and he kept that reputation by nodding. He then set another mug of High Grade down beside him. "Thank you," Galvatron whispered and he shooed the mech off.

The reflective bar counter displayed Galvatron's reflection and a collection of digitprints, but not a figure to sit beside him. He sipped at his mug and he set it back down with a _thud_. Maccadam leaned forward from his position behind the bar and he watched the Decepticon warlord...start to cry.

"I remember when he was littler..." He sipped at the fuel again, polishing it off and waving his servo. Maccadam set down a can of oil and Galvatron grunted, a tear rolling down and dangling at his chin. "Such a pathetic librarian he was. He believed he could change the world, believed he could change _me_. I was a monster, and he liked to sleep at my side. I was planning his death, and he would give up his fuel so I could have it. And then he became Prime, and I attacked him for eons, but you know what I really regret?"

Maccadam heard this story every other day, always at the same time, but he listened eagerly. The mech he spoke of used to visit all the time, too, and the warlord before him and that mech were friends, leaning into each other, laughing, teasing each other over mugs of High Grade and then cans of Visco until one or the other could barely stand. Then the stronger one at the time would limp himself and the other out of the bar only to return a few days later...

"He loved me, and I abused him. He wanted to rule the world together, make the world a safer place for me and the other gladiators, and I _killed him_." He spat the words, more tears rolling down his cheeks from his squeezed-shut optics. "I killed him...I wish I could take it all back."

Galvatron left a tip, but he remained in his seat, glancing over at the empty chair and gently fingering the handle of the mug. "Is he there?"

Maccadam had heard that question every time Galvatron finished the story, and he would switch alternately between yes and no, but this time, in the reflection of the counter, he saw the image of a familiar mech sit down and stare expectantly in Maccadam's general direction. The mech's servo curled around the handle of the reflected mug, tossed it back (though the mug on the counter remained), and the mech turned to Galvatron and grinned.

Galvatron's reflection was warped into his original self: silver, all sharp edges...

"I feel him," he whispered, and he looked at Maccadam. "Does he forgive me?"

The cold oil house suddenly felt warm, but not as though someone merely increased the temperature. It felt warm like an embrace. The reflections faded away, but Maccadam still felt _warm_. He nodded. "He forgives you," he rasped.

Galvatron's smile disappeared and he grunted, shaking a few extra coins onto the counter before padding to the door. He held it open a beat longer than he should have, as if holding it open for someone else. It had started to rain, and a puddle had formed in front of the door. Galvatron was standing next to it, his gaze drawn to the puddle.

As Maccadam watched, there was a splash in the puddle as if someone stepped into it and his audios picked up Galvatron's last words of the evening.

"Watch your step, clumsy librarian."


End file.
